


On the Edge of Falling

by Frayach



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gap Filler, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring’s on the edge of falling into summer; Justin’s on the edge of going where no man has ever gone before – Brian Kinney’s heart, and Brian is on his own edge – the edge of falling in love.  Set during season one between the King of Babylon contest and Brian’s receipt of the “Ad Person of the Year” award.</p>
<p>
  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Spring is in the Air" challenge at [Midnight Whispers](http://midnightwhispers.ca/viewuser.php?uid=1392).

“April is the cruelest month”

Bullshit.

Justin bit his lip trying to contain the giddy laughter. January, now _that_ was a cruel month. Especially this year. Ball-freezing cold. But it hadn’t mattered. Nothing mattered. Not the cold, not exams, not college applications, not harassment from the football team, not even having to babysit Molly on Thursday nights. Nothing mattered except Brian.

_Brian_

_Brian Kinney_

_Brian A. Kinney_

_Brian & Justin 4-Ever_

_Brian & Justin Taylor-Kinney_

_Gus Marcus-Peterson-Taylor-Kinney_

Shit. That last one had too many hyphens.

_Gus Taylor-Kinney_

There that was better. Sorry Mel and Linds.

Suddenly someone, namely the teacher, loudly cleared his throat. Justin jumped.

“Mr. Taylor, just because you got into every Ivy League school on the eastern seaboard doesn’t mean you get to blow off the rest of the term.”

“What was the question again, sir?” he stammered.

“The question was, Mr. Taylor, what did T.S. Eliot mean when he wrote those famous words?”

Daphne kicked the back of the chair and tried to hand him a note. Screw that. He didn’t always need her help in English class.

April. AprilAprilAprilAprilApril

Cruel.

Okay, he knew what ‘cruel’ meant. Brian could be cruel – cold-metal cruel – sometimes. All Justin had to do was reach into his heart and slide the memory of Brian’s cruelty free like a splinter embedded in his skin.

“April is cruel because it’s not yet spring,” he said. “It makes you think it is by giving you a warm day now and then, but the next day will be thirty degrees again. It gives with one hand and takes away with the other. It’s like being in limbo. On the edge of falling, but not quite, and you don’t know which way you’re going to fall – forward into summer or backward into the winter.”

The classroom was silent, and everyone was staring at him. Daphne patted him of the shoulder.

“Wow,” she whispered. “I’m impressed.”

“Very good, Mr. Taylor. Excellent. Now if you were only as good at writing as you are at reading.”

Mr. Bantam called on another student/victim, and Justin rolled his eyes. Talk about giving with one hand and taking away with the other. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes left and then another twenty till the bus dropped him off at Deb’s and then a half an hour to the loft. Argh! Where was the fast-forward button for life? And why-oh-why did the time he spent _without_ Brian go so fucking slow, and the time he spent _with_ him go so fucking fast?

He already had his books stuffed in his bag when the bell rang. He hated schlepping his school shit to Brian’s, but Brian would be pissed if he didn’t do his homework. The asshole was worse than his mom, checking how many pages he’d read every fifteen minutes and pointing out his calculus mistakes without offering to help.

Thank God Deb wasn’t home, and Vic merely rolled his eyes fondly when Justin crashed through the door, ran up the stairs two at a time and ran down again still pulling his shirt down over his head.

“One of these days, you’re going to fall down those stairs and break your neck,” Vic said amiably. “Tell Brian I said ‘hello’”

Justin grinned, grabbed his bag and crashed back out the door into one of those April showers that supposedly bring May flowers.

 

He was greeted by a familiar sound when he slid open the door. Why yet again, despite all experience to the contrary, did he keep thinking he’d someday walk into the loft and _not_ find Brian fucking? He must be in particularly good form today; the guy was groaning an endless stream of fervent ‘fuck-me’s. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was loud in the otherwise quiet space. Justin dropped his bag on the floor with an unapologetic _thud_. Brian wouldn’t care – after all, he’d told Justin to come over after school and left the door unlocked – but he hoped it startled the crap out of the trick and ruined his orgasm.

Mr. Bantam didn’t know shit about his writing abilities. Justin had actually invented a whole new word for moments such as this. Jealousy and anger weren’t options – both were one-way tickets out of Brian’s life. Feeling hurt only made him cry, which was a _serious_ no-no. A sense of betrayal? How could Brian betray him when they weren’t anything that even _resembled_ a couple? Indifference? . . . well, indifference wasn’t an option either. He couldn’t imagine ever feeling indifferent when confronted with incontrovertible proof that Brian fucked other guys. Suppressed knowledge was one thing; he could live with that. But actual evidence . . . ? Having his nose figuratively rubbed into Brian’s spunk-damp sheets? Not fun.

He called the emotion he’d invented “chokechurncrushcrumble.” It was inelegant, but apt. It captured the strangling sensation, the surge of nausea, the feeling of having walked into an invisible wall, and the exhaustion that followed on the heels of a thwarted fight or flight response.

Brian moaned raggedly, and Justin closed his eyes on helpless tears. Why didn’t the awfulness of moments like these override the awesomeness of moments like those he knew would come after the trick left? _You’re addicted_ , Daphne had told him the other day. _He sounds more like a narcotic than a boyfriend. I know you love him, but I’m not so sure he’s good for you_.

“That you, Sunshine?” Brian’s voice was strained and breathless.

_Answer_ , the little voice in Justin’s head whispered. If you don’t, he’ll know something’s wrong, and the evening will be ruined. _Come on, you idiot!_

“Yup.”

“How was school today?”

“Fine.”

“You forgot your tie this morning.”

“I borrowed one. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“I got you some Dr. Pepper.”

“Thanks.”

“I had a glass; I don’t know how you can drink that shit.”

“It’s not that bad.”

There was a pause in their conversation when Brian slapped the guy’s ass and ordered him to “fucking squeeze already.” Brian’s subsequent groan suggested the guy was good at following directions.

“There’s half a turkey sandwich in the fridge if you want it,” Brian called. “I’m almost done.”

_Whatever_. Justin’s tongue itched to say it, and if it was his mother or a teacher he was talking to, he would have. But it wasn’t his mother or a teacher; it was Brian. His mom might ground him, his teacher might keep him after school, but Brian would kick his ass out the door and throw T.S. Eliot and the bottle of Dr. Pepper after him.

He mouthed it anyway. _Whatever. What-the-fuck-ever_.

“I’m gonna shoot!” the trick shouted. “Oh, fuck . . . oh, Christ, I’m shooting my load!”

Thank fucking God. Justin actually applauded although not loud enough for Brian to hear. Justin didn’t know the guy, but right now he hated him more than anyone who’d ever existed. More than Chris Hobbes. Maybe even more than Hitler. Maybe Justin should say stuff like that when they fucked– maybe then Brian wouldn’t feel like he needed other guys . . .

“Christ, keep it down, will you?” Brian snapped. “You’ll wake the damn bunny.”

Justin froze, his hand resting on the handle of the refrigerator door. Bunny? Did Brian just say the word “bunny”?

Even when he was in mid-fuck and seconds away from coming, Brian could apparently read Justin’s mind.

“Box . . . counter . . . _oh, fuck!_ ” he panted.

Box? Justin frowned as he glanced around the loft, and then he saw it – something he never thought he’d see within any sphere of reality in which Brian existed. A torn, stained, dirty cardboard box. It even smelled bad.

What the hell? He tiptoed over to it as though it might contain a bomb or, perhaps more likely, a severed head. Brian groaned, and Justin heard the snap of a condom being removed. _Finally!_

_Just don’t say it_ , Justin chanted in his head. _Please don’t ask if you can take a shower . . ._

“Can I take a shower?”

Christ. Justin winced. He knew what was coming. One of the many reasons he hated catching Brian fucking was being present when Brian put his tricks in their place.

“You mean you don’t have one at your place? How sad. The YMCA is just a few blocks north. I’ll give you a dollar for a towel. I hear you’ll find better soap at a Motel 6, but at least it does the trick.”

Justin bit his lip and tried not to laugh at the pun even though he knew Brian had said it just for him. A moment later, Brian emerged from the bedroom and walked, stark naked, into the kitchen where he opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Well?” he said after he drank half the bottle and poured the rest over his head.

“Well what?”

Brian gave him an exasperated expression. “The box.”

The trick came down the steps, buttoning his shirt. He looked at Justin and then at Brian and then back at Justin. He was stunning . . . and stunned. Brian must’ve fucked the brains right out of his skull. In his addled state, he was obviously having difficulty figuring out who Justin might be and why Justin – and not he – was going to be taking that aforementioned shower with Brian. Justin could hear the gears grinding between his ears: _How the hell did this kid, who looks like he doesn’t even need to shave yet, land the insatiable, the incomparable, the incredible Brian Kinney?_

Justin smirked at him. “Bye-bye,” he said cheerily. Meanwhile, Brian didn’t even seem to notice the guy was still there. It was really frightening to realize just how big of an asshole Brian could be sometimes. Justin saw the guy pause before sliding open the door. _Please don’t say it_ , Justin pleaded with him, praying for an unlikely mind-meld. _Just take what’s left of your dignity and go home_.

“I want to see you again.”

Justin actually smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Why did people never take his psychic advice? Now the guy wouldn’t even be able to retain a fond memory of the past hour.

“Hey, Sunshine?” Brian asked. “Did you hear something?”

Justin rolled his eyes and made a beeline for the bathroom. He didn’t want to be present for the ensuing scene. Hate the guy as he might, he was still a human being with human feelings that Brian was about to crush carelessly under his handsome foot. He waited until he could no longer hear voices and the door clanged shut.

“It’s okay,” Brian called. “You can come out now.”

Justin returned to the kitchen, and Brian grabbed him around the waist. “C’mere,” he said huskily. The kiss was warm and deep, and all of Justin’s blood flowed straight to his groin as though a levy had suddenly given in. He raised his arms to wrap them around Brian’s neck, but Brian nipped his mouth and pulled away.

“You haven’t looked in the box,” he said.

As always when Brian first touched him, Justin was trembling. He placed a hand on the counter to steady himself and watched – half with mortification and half with amusement – as Brian’s smile turned into a grin. Brian knew what he did to him . . . what he did to _everyone_.

“I found it in the park.”

Justin blinked at him. “The box?”

“No, you ass,” Brian replied. “What’s _in_ the box. Take a look.”

“If it’s gross or you’re trying to scare me . . .”

“I swear it’s neither gross nor scary.”

Justin approached the box and lifted the soggy flaps. At first all he could see was grass and then . . . .

It was the tiniest bunny Justin had ever seen. It was so small it could fit in a teacup and still have room. Its nose was twitching, but otherwise it seemed completely unfazed . . .

. . . . for the first time since that fateful night last fall, Justin momentarily forgot that Brian existed. He reached into the box and touched the bunny’s fur. It blinked, but it didn’t move.

“Shit,” Brian groaned. “I’ve really gone and done it, haven’t I? You’re going to fall in love with the little fucker, aren’t you?”

Justin looked at him with eyes that were probably just as big and guileless as the bunny’s. “Can I pick him up?”

Brian made a face. “Don’t ask for my permission. It’s yours.”

“It’s mine?”

“Of course, it’s yours. Do you think I want a rabbit hopping around here? Take it with you back to Deb’s. It’ll so resemble a grandchild that she’ll get all sappy and let you keep it.”

Justin reached into the box and carefully lifted the bunny, which, of course, promptly peed all over his shirt.

“Great,” Brian said. “It’s not like I didn’t see that coming from a mile away. Let’s hurry up and fuck so we can get that thing out of here before it ruins something less replaceable than you.”

Justin rolled his eyes and held the bunny against his chest. It was smaller than his fist – smaller even than a human heart.

“Where’s its mother?” Justin asked.

It’d seemed like a simple question, but Brian’s expression went from careless to dark in an instant. “I need a shower,” he snapped, “and so do you now thanks to that little bastard.”

He turned and stomped up the steps to the bedroom. Justin stared after him. The bunny shifted in his hand, and he looked down at it. Despite the warm April day outside, the temperature in the loft seemed to have dropped ten degrees. He found a hand towel, wrapped the bunny in it and put it back in the box. But not before kissing it’s nose. Thank God in heaven Brian couldn’t see him.

Brian was already in the shower when Justin walked into the bathroom. Justin quickly got undressed and joined him. Brian thrust a bar of soap into his hand and turned around. Justin started washing his neck and shoulders. Brian’s tendons were as tight as piano wire, his muscles as unforgiving as granite.

“Are you mad at me or something?” he asked.

Brian tipped his head back to wet his hair. “Why? Should I be?”

He hated it when Brian answered him with a question. It meant Brian didn’t want to talk. They’d fuck and not say anything, and then Brian would drop him off at Deb’s with nothing but a quick kiss and a “later.” Even though he could still feel Brian inside him, he felt hollowed out and sad. For Brian even more than himself.

“No, but obviously there’s _something_ bothering you . . .”

“My hard-on is bothering me.”

This was the moment in the conversation when Justin was supposed to say something like “I think I can take care of that for you” and then drop to his knees. Brian might not talk after he came, but at least he’d stop being hostile.

Fuck that.

“What happened?” he asked, sliding his hands around Brian’s waist and pulling him close, his chest pressed tight against Brian’s back.

“What do you mean?” Brian asked petulantly. He took one of Justin’s hands and wrapped Justin’s fingers around his cock. He was so friggin’ hard! It never ceased to amaze Justin how Brian was _always_ capable of an erection. He was pretty sure Brian would have a hard-on even if the earth were being attacked by aliens. He began stroking slowly, his grip loose and gentle. Brian moaned with appreciation and widened his stance.

Justin took a deep deep _deep_ breath.

“Did the mother abandon it?”

Brian had been melting into the sensations Justin was stirring inside him, but his whole body seized up again when he heard Justin’s words.

“Leave it,” he snapped. “I want to get off, not talk about a stupid rabbit. I’m sorry I even brought it home. I should’ve known it would turn you into a lesbian – after all, it wouldn’t take much.”

Ouch. “Lesbian” was pretty much the worst thing Brian could call someone. “Stupid little twat” was a compliment in comparison. Brian was picking a fight . . . which was pretty brave considering Justin had his dick in his hand. He knew Brian wanted nothing more in that moment than for Justin to take the bait and fight back. If he did, Brian would fuck him angrily. Justin knew from ever-growing experience that Brian loved fucking when Justin was angry. Brian loved fucking his mind blank and his mouth shut.

Justin took another deep breath. He was pushing back harder than he had since they first met, when Justin had pleaded with him to give him a chance to be more than just another spurned fuck.

“Something upset you,” he said quietly, still stroking Brian’s cock, his hand slick with soap.

Brian shrugged in what might be surrender. Justin flattened his free hand against Brian’s groin, combing his fingers into his pubic hair and tugging gently until Brian moaned again.

“What happened?” he whispered, leaving open-mouthed kisses on Brian’s shoulders. He was braced for anything. Even physical violence. He was pretty sure he hadn’t yet reached the borders of what Brian was capable of.

But Brian merely dropped his head as though it was too heavy for his neck. “Please,” he said. “Just leave it, Justin. It’s a stupid rabbit.” His voice hitched. Justin breathed in sharply. He’d never heard distress in Brian’s voice before. Sarcasm, yes. Anger, yes. Ditto with teasing and lust and amusement, but never distress. Never pain.

“You saved it, didn’t you?” 

Brian shrugged again. “You’re a nosy twat,” he said half-heartedly. 

Justin tightened his grip on Brian’s cock and increased the speed of his stroking.

“That’s one of the many reasons why you can’t live without me.”

Brian snorted, but he didn’t argue. Justin smiled against his shoulder. For a long time, they didn’t speak, both of them concentrating on Brian’s gradually approaching orgasm. When he started trembling in Justin’s arms, he suddenly spoke very quietly. It was oddly incongruent – and so very very Brian.

“There were kids,” he said quietly, thrusting into Justin’s grip. “I saw them kicking something back and forth between them. When I got close, I realized it wasn’t a ball . . . it was a fucking rabbit, and then I almost stepped on its stupid baby . . .”

It was all he was going to say. Justin clutched Brian’s body against his and began twisting his grip on the head of Brian’s cock at the end of every stroke. Brian was panting but otherwise uncharacteristically quiet. It was only when he froze and then collapsed in Justin’s arms that Justin knew he’d come.

_I love you too_. He mouthed the words against Brian’s wet hair as Brian struggled to regain control of his body. _I love you too, you wonderful amazing infuriating asshole._

 

“Leave him alone, Deb.”

Deb was standing in her “Don’t Mess With The Chef” apron with her hands on her hips. She looked at him, her mouth open, her expression disbelieving. Any second now she was going to erupt into an explosion of expletives. Justin winced as though watching someone light the fuse on a stick of dynamite.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she finally bellowed. “You’re turning into Michael – making excuses for that asshole! I’ve had more than enough of that already, thank you very much.”

“I’m not making excuses,” Justin replied. “I’m just saying leave him alone. He said _maybe_ he’d come. It’s not like he promised he’d be here.”

“But you just won that award! He should be here congratulating you!”

Justin bit back a smile. “He already did congratulate me,” he said, deciding not to mention Brian’s congratulatory gift of velvet-lined handcuffs he’d had made specially to match the width of Justin’s wrists – not too tight and not too loose.

Deb made a face and shook her head. “He _knew_ we were having a party for you. I told him myself this morning at the diner. Brian is many things, but he’s not forgetful. I don’t think he’s ever forgotten anything in his entire life . . . God help a person who gets on his bad side . . . . So when he does things like this it’s like a big, old, giant middle finger.”

Justin shrugged and then bit back another smile when he realized that he didn’t care. Brian had said he was going to the baths. Whatever. They’d fucked with the framed Mary Cassatt Foundation’s Upcoming Young Artist certificate on the nightstand, and Brian had made all sorts of stupid “upcoming” puns. Justin would never cease being amazed by Brian’s ability to think up puns, let alone speak, within seconds of climaxing. Justin, one the other hand, couldn’t even remember his own name.

“It’s alright, Deb,” he said, walking over to Bunny’s cage and scooping it up with one hand. Bunny was getting big – pretty soon Justin would need to use two.

“He’s doing the same thing with you that he did with Michael – raising your hopes and then dashing them.”

“Then I guess the trick is never raising your hopes in the first place.”

Deb shook her head again and went back to the kitchen where something mouth-watering was simmering on the stove. He’d have to remember to bring leftovers home for Brian. Going to the baths always left him famished.

“That boy survives on low expectations,” she grumbled.

Justin wasn’t sure he agreed. After all, Brian did think rather highly of himself – be it as an ad executive or the best fuck on Liberty Ave. He nuzzled Bunny. It was only going to be with them for another week. Brian had convinced him that they should let Bunny go.

_“It’ll be fun,”_ he’d said. _“We’ll drive out to some cow field somewhere. I’ve never fucked outdoors. I hope there won’t be bees.”_

_“I think you mean mosquitoes,”_ Justin had replied.

_“Whatever. Same difference.”_

Obviously Brian had never been a Cub Scout.

“That was very nice of Daphne to give you that little guy,” Deb said, nodding at Bunny. “I know you’ve been missing your cat.”

Justin sighed. Brian had _insisted_ that no one find out about Bunny’s origins. More than Brian tricking and being a shit sometimes, it upset Justin knowing that no one would ever know . . . about Bunny and about so many other things.

He was just about to put Bunny back in his cage when there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for someone to answer it, Brian walked in and threw his jacket over the back of the armchair. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath, and Justin could see a hint of pink on his arms. It was one of April’s less cruel days. Wintry pale skin didn’t stand a chance.

Deb came into the living room. “Sun screen,” she said, shaking a spoon at him.

“Yes, mom,” Brian replied. “Why hello there, Sunshine. How’s that rabbit of yours?” He came over and threw his arm around Justin’s shoulders.

“Changed your mind about the baths?”

Brian shrugged. “Got bored,” he said.

Justin caught Deb’s poorly camouflaged smile out of the corner of his eye. “Bored, my ass,” she said. “You just can’t stay away from our Sunshine here, can you?”

Brian released him and began grousing around, picking up tchotchkes, glaring at them and then putting them back. Not only were his arms pink, but the back of his neck as well, although Justin suspected the color was due to a blush and not sunburn.

“C’mere,” he said. “Bunny’s missed you.”

Brian pretended he wasn’t interested, but he came over anyway.

“Give me the little bastard,” he said, holding out his hands and lifting Bunny to his chest like he did with Gus. He even kissed the top of its head. _Don’t laugh, Deb, don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh_ , Justin chanted. And for once, he was listened to. She merely gave Justin’s shoulder a quick squeeze when she bustled past on her way to the door and the party’s newest arrivals.


End file.
